


Raindrops

by CrackingLamb



Series: Just Like Fire - Prompt Fills for La'vise Lavellan [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirty, Fluffy, Kissing, Prompt Fill, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb
Summary: The Storm Coast is a miserable place to make camp.  And Solas is a playful trickster.La'vise can't help but be drawn in.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: Just Like Fire - Prompt Fills for La'vise Lavellan [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901281
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Raindrops

It always rained on the Storm Coast, and why not? That _is_ how it got its name. Still, the driving downpour had turned what should have been a swift route inland into a quagmire of mud and sliding wet stone and La'vise was thoroughly irritated and soaked through to boot.

And now they had arrived at their camp on the beach, finally having found what they were looking for, only to discover that the incessant storm had washed away one of their tents, leaving just two for three men and a woman to share. She was furious, although mostly at herself. The requisition officer had told her they needed sturdier tents and she hadn't listened.

No, that wasn't it. She _had_ listened, she simply hadn't managed to find the component parts they needed. And that just sparked a whole new conflagration of frustration. Why was this even her job? She was the Inquisitor. They were supposed to have scouts for this sort of thing, weren't they?

“One of us will have to share with her,” she heard Varric say over the rain.

“I won't keep the Inquisitor up with my snoring,” Blackwall said stoutly, determinedly _not_ taking this particular hit for the team. She pretended she didn't hear them and looked over the rest of the requisition orders at the dripping wet table. Still, she kept an ear on the conversation.

“I will stay with her,” Solas said, in a tone that both brooked no argument and managed to somehow convey profound disappointment that the other two could not get past their own fragile sensibilities to share a tent with their leader for one night.

Varric muttered something under his breath that sounded rather like a joke about close quarters and like minded elves. When she turned away from the table to see them still hunched over each other like bandits plotting their next heist, she saw Solas frowning at the dwarf. He did not retort, however. La'vise decided it was time to break up this little meeting of male minds before it got too out of hand.

“If you gentlemen are finished,” she announced in a loud voice, making two of them jump and one of them smirk, “I'm choosing one of these tents and I'm getting in it. And I won't be leaving it unless the sky decides to fall upon us along with the rain.”

“Yes, your Worship,” said Blackwall.

“Right,” said Varric. He looked like he was trying to hold in a laugh, and she wondered if he guessed more was going on than was public knowledge. Well, he wasn't entirely wrong, but he wasn't exactly right either. There was _something_ going on, she just wasn't sure what it was.

Solas said nothing at all, of course, but he did quirk his eyebrows at her before turning away from the camp to wander down the beach. She gave an exasperated sigh and ducked into the canvas tent with her pack. _Men_. Did they honestly forget that she was born Dalish, that she had shared less than private quarters with people her whole life before now?

She proceeded to strip out of her soaked leather armor and clothes and change into something dry. She knew she should enjoy it for however long it lasted, since it wasn't like her wet things were going to improve by morning in this weather. She tried to read, but all she had were the collected journals of the Grey Wardens they'd been finding. It wasn't very pleasant reading and she gave up on it after only a few pages. It was getting too dark to read anyway.

She sat up on her bedroll and listened to the rain. If nothing else, the sound of it falling on the canvas drowned out all other sounds, even the waves crashing to shore not far away. She was sure to be able to sleep through Blackwall's snoring if it came to it. It was therefore startling when Solas ducked into the tent, turning quickly to secure the door of it before he took a single step inside.

He cast a glance her way. As much as he might have pretended in front of the others, she was fairly certain he was in no way displeased to be sharing her tent with her. He waved his hand and a small globe of light appeared above his palm, highlighting the bold angles of his face. He was as soaked as she had been earlier, but on him it didn't do anything to detract from his stark beauty. She didn't know whether to revel in that or be further disgruntled that she was a bedraggled mess.

“You are staring, Inquisitor,” he said softly as he lobbed the mage light towards the ceiling and began unwrapping himself from his own wet armor.

She made a face at him. She wasn't about to tell him that raindrops had clung to his eyelashes like diamonds. Or that the sheen of droplets made his skin more luminous in the glow of his mage light. Instead, she said the next thing that came to mind, which after the fact wasn't much better.

“I have a name, Solas. You're allowed to use it. Especially considering you've had your tongue in my mouth. Even if it was just in the Fade.”

He paused, half tangled in sodden wool from his jacket. For a moment his eyes flared with heat. He stripped off the jacket and the belt that went with it. He held the wet armor in front of him and _froze_ it, shaking it so the ice crystals dropped off before melting again. In astonishment, she watched him do the same to hers. They would still be somewhat damp in the morning, just from the ambient humidity, but she was more grateful than she could say that at least her clothes and armor wouldn't be sopping wet. Then he hung them up from hooks in the framing pole of the tent. When he turned back to her, the heat was gone, but a teasing glint had replaced it. He inclined his head towards her.

“La'vise,” he drawled. In his polite and well modulated accent it sounded far richer than it had any right to, calling up the numerous variations of meaning her name had. _Like fire_. _One who burns_. _The flame that's given_. She wanted to squirm and felt a contrary inclination to tell him to go back to calling her Inquisitor. He had a talent for tying her up in knots, and it seemed he knew it too. She was so thoroughly distracted she didn't notice he was taking off his shirt until she saw a glimpse of skin at his waist as he lifted it.

“Solas! You could have said something.” She whirled around so she was facing the wall. His chuckle was barely louder than the rain hitting the tent. It was too warm suddenly in the confined space and she desperately tried to get her blush under control before he saw it. He was infuriating.

“Is that truly necessary?” he asked lightly, amused by her burst of propriety. “If, as you say...”

She made an impatient sound and landed on a retort that was both appropriate for her vexation and completely true. “I'm just trying to give you the space you wanted to have. For consideration.”

“Ah, I see.” Oddly, there was no sign of the previous teasing in his answer. There was a whisper of fabric on skin and the shadows moved across the wall of the tent as he did. She noticed too late that the shadows were moving closer to her. And then he was there, crouched behind her back, not quite touching. “Thank you, La'vise.”

She shuddered. He spoke right in her ear, his breath tickling it, his voice a rumble. This wasn't teasing, this was pure temptation. He had to know, didn't he? He stayed there, patiently waiting to see what she was going to do. She peeked over her shoulder at him, only to find him a hairsbreadth away, his skin gleaming in the mage light. He hadn't replaced his shirt. What she'd heard was him drying off his head. Now his eyelashes were all clumped together. It added fuel to her agitated state that it made him look all the more endearing.

“You're not making that easy,” she whispered. His eyes crinkled and his lips curled. It wasn't a grin so much as an overall change in his entire demeanor. And she was hopelessly enthralled.

“Am I not?” he replied.

“You said it could lead to trouble.”

“I did.”

“I wouldn't want to push.”

“I appreciate that.”

“But...?” She leaned back away from him to catch her breath, which felt mildly silly. It wasn't like he was crowding her in any way. He remained right where he was, balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet. He was warm, as she'd discovered only a mage could be, and she felt it radiate across the tiny distance between them.

“I have not forgotten the taste of you on my tongue,” he said finally. Her breath stopped dead in her throat. His words painted a much more vibrant mental picture than she needed right now. Even as she noticed that he looked sad about it.

“What does that mean, Solas?” she managed.

He leaned forward, his muscle control nearly as powerful as her need for him. He stopped so close she could see violet in the gray of his eyes. She could count his freckles if she was in any way capable of higher thought. He drew the moment out, letting it build until it was unbearable before he let his mouth touch hers. She might have squeaked, she wasn't sure. All she knew was the next moment she'd leaned into him, deepening the kiss. She wanted to devour him, to _be_ devoured. She wanted to knock him off balance, pull him down with her to the bedroll, finish the job of undressing him. Maybe with her teeth.

Of course, she did none of those things. Aside from the fact that it wasn't in her nature to be so bold, he hadn't said that she could. Her hands ached with how tightly she kept them clenched together in her lap. When he finally pulled away, she saw that he was holding himself tensely too, as if to prevent all the things she wanted from happening as well. The patter of rain on the tent was loud in the silence that followed. She was glad of it, it drowned out the static in her brain from his kiss.

“You should get some sleep, Inquisitor.” He stood up before she could reply and crossed to the other side, hidden by their hanging armor. She made a rueful face and let out a breath as slowly as she could so it didn't sound like she was sighing.

“I'm not sure this is a good idea, you know,” she said as she carefully laid back on her bedroll. She felt jumpy and skittish and...frustrated.

“Sharing this tent? Why is that?” he asked, too calm and collected for her peace of mind. The mage light suddenly extinguished, leaving the tent dim with only the faint glow from outside to light it.

“You're a powerful temptation,” she said, screwing up her courage. His answer was a snort. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling of the tent. The rest of the camp was quiet. The storm was almost lulling with no other sounds to break it up. She was nearly asleep when a drop hit her in the face and she sat up with a disgusted noise.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

“There's a leak.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I am, it dripped on me,” she exclaimed. As she spoke, another drop hit her nose, rolling off the end of it to tickle her top lip. She sputtered to blow it away and then scrubbed her face with her hands. She nearly missed his soft laugh.

“Shall we switch places?”

“That wouldn't be very fair to you. Not like you could keep up a barrier all night.”

“Hmm, I suppose that is true.” She heard rustling. “You could come over here and share with me.”

“I don't know if I can keep my hands to myself,” she admitted with a bit of a whine. He outright laughed. Another drop landed in her hair, working its way to her scalp and making it itch. She was fully aware that she could just as easily curl into a ball at the foot of her bedroll to avoid the leak, but she really didn't want to. She would wake up cramped and grumpy and that wouldn't help anyone. She glared at the tent ceiling, but of course in the relative dark she couldn't see any holes. Another drop landed on her, right between her eyes. “Ugh, fine.”

She crossed the tent before more rain drops could make her miserable. Solas had scooted aside in his bedroll to make room for her. In the shadows, he didn't look perturbed at the situation at all. She slid next to him, careful to keep her extremities to herself. He pulled the top of the roll over them both and settled on his side. They were very close and she was burning up with something like mortification.

“I am grateful you are giving me the time I asked for,” he whispered into her ear, making her shiver. “But I will not take it amiss if you cannot keep your hands to yourself.”

As he spoke, his own smoothed down her back and over her hip. She stilled under his touch, both soothed and ultimately more turned on than she had been after his kiss. His easy acceptance of her right there in his space made something occur to her.

“Solas...”

“Yes, La'vise?”

“Did you make the tent leak so I'd come over here?”

“That would be a rather juvenile trick, do you not think?”

“That's not an answer.”

“Do you think me so juvenile?”

She rolled over so she was facing him, aware that his hand had glided against her body the whole time. “I think you have the ability to be, yes.”

His smile was roguish in the dim light. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose and cheekbones. Hardly with her own knowledge, her hands crept up his chest to dig into the material of his thin shirt. He waited until she had drawn a deep enough breath to chastise once more and then he swallowed any sound she might make with his lips on hers. The kiss was slow and even, but it was hot and needy too. She wanted to wrap her leg around him, she wanted to let him do whatever he was inclined to do. It was _embarrassing_ how much she wanted him.

When he pulled away at last, he ran light fingers over her hair, tucking a loose lock behind her ear. “Go to sleep.”

“You did, didn't you?” she accused in a whisper. “You made it drip on me so I would have an excuse to come over here.”

“That would be most unbecoming of the Inquisitor's companion.”

She thumped the heel of her hand against his chest, shocking a laugh from him. “That doesn't mean you didn't do it.”

“I know. Goodnight, La'vise.” He tucked her against his chest, his chin on top of her head. His heat bathed her, made her feel safe and protected. She relaxed into his arms but couldn't let it pass without _some_ acknowledgment.

“Humph,” she chided. “Goodnight, you harellan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Harellan - by strict definition it means trickster, traitor or rebel.
> 
> Poor La'vise doesn't know just how well she hits that nail on the head.


End file.
